


nothing but good intentions

by inattention



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Cock Warming, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, basically just the product of the omigiri server enabling me, cockwarming ur bf as he's doing the bills is an extreme sport
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26063257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inattention/pseuds/inattention
Summary: One moment, Osamu is watching the morning news, happily oblivious, hands clasped loosely around the remote control, and in the next one, Kiyoomi pops his cute little head out of the bathroom, having just spit out his toothpaste, and goes, “Hey baby, how do you feel about orgasm denial?”There’s a pause as Osamu blinks and collects his wits.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 252
Collections: 🐶🍙 omigiri fanfic collection





	nothing but good intentions

**Author's Note:**

> alternatively titled: "what are your thoughts on orgasm denial?" the fic
> 
> jk the smut of excuse the mess bc i needed osamu and kiyoomi functional but v chaotic bfs. also sakusa kiyoomi kinky
> 
> thank you to yam who had to deal w me screaming at this one very incoherently in the dms and also to the omigiri server for the influx of content

  
See, when you think about kink negotiations, you expect it to be sexy. Osamu certainly did, once upon a time. It had to be. Shouldn’t conversations about sexy time just have to be inherently sexy?

The reality is the complete opposite. One moment, Osamu is watching the morning news, happily oblivious, hands clasped loosely around the remote control, and in the next one, Kiyoomi pops his cute little head out of the bathroom, having just spit out his toothpaste, and goes, “Hey baby, how do you feel about orgasm denial?”

There’s a pause as Osamu blinks and collects his wits.

 _What_ , he thinks, because that can’t be right. Kiyoomi did not just ask him that with the weather report droning in the background.

So he goes and clears his throat in an attempt to compose himself but what comes out is the ever eloquent, “The fuck?”

There’s the sound of water running and the tap closing and then Kiyoomi’s standing by the sofa, neon pink headband keeping his curls out of his eyes. The weatherman continues to drone on about something or other. Truthfully, Osamu doesn’t care.

“Well?” he prompts.

“Well what?” Osamu replies, slowly turning over to look his boyfriend in the eye. Said boyfriend only purses his lips, as though in deep consideration.

“Orgasm denial.” He repeats. “Is that a no?”

Osamu’s leaning forward slightly when he says, “Kiyoomi, that’s not a no. That’s a—uh. That’s just,” he makes a time out gesture, “give me a minute, alright? I haven’t even had my mornin’ coffee yet.”

There’s a beat, and Kiyoomi lets out a small sigh, taking a seat beside Osamu on the sofa. His collarbones peek out from beneath his oversized night shirt, a constellation of tender bruises along it: souvenirs from last night.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to, you know. It’s not a big deal.”

“I know that, baby.” Osamu tells him. “But m’really not sayin’ no. Was just surprised.”

Sakusa folds his hands on his lap—posture rigid, spine straight. “I just wanted to discuss the possibility. Along with other things.”

Osamu squints at him, pursing his lips. He’s curious, of course. “Other things?”

“Mhm.”

“Like what, exactly?”

Kiyoomi nods, slow, considering. “Edging. Making me cry. How much I like it when you throw me around a little.” There’s a small pout on his mouth now, one that makes Osamu want to kiss it off. “There’s also the matter of how much it gets me off when you’re a little bit meaner. It’s a little bit concerning.”

His throat goes tight. Of course he’s noticed how Kiyoomi always gives a little shudder when his filter comes off, how his eyes narrow and turn heated, but he hasn’t really thought about it. He’s always figured Kiyoomi would come and tell him once he was ready to, and now he is. Honestly, for someone who saw this coming, this really should be easier.

Except it isn’t, because he’s short circuiting, so maybe he really isn’t as prepared for it as he thought. “Oh.”

Kiyoomi looks very serene, though; so infuriatingly calm. He looks like someone who wasn’t nearly whimpering his name last night—like someone who didn’t come on his fingers alone, squirming and sobbing and sighing, crystal tear drops gathering at the base of his waterline.

It makes him want to take him apart piece by piece, learn how to love him again from the inside out.

If Kiyoomi notices, he does not say; he only assures him, “Only if you want.”

“We need to talk about it first, but I do want to try it.”

“That’s a given.” Kiyoomi looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “Oh. One last thing. I want to run something by you.”

Osamu’s eyebrows furrow. “What is it?”

Kiyoomi leans forward to whisper something in his ear; Osamu blinks in surprise, swallowing nearly out of instinct when the realization hits. Judging from the way Kiyoomi’s looking at him, he isn’t being very subtle about it.

“Oh,” he mumbles, leaning away. “Oh, yeah. We could definitely try that.”

Kiyoomi snickers, pulling away from him with a mischievous glint in his eyes. His hand finds its way on Osamu’s thigh, settling there with a finality. “Glad to know you’re on board, baby.”

“You only call me baby when yer horny.”

“That’s right. I do.” Kiyoomi agrees, which makes Osamu roll his eyes. “Wanna fuck?”

“Hey, Kiyoomi, are you a homosexual? Be honest.”

Kiyoomi lets out a sharp exhale through his nose. “You’re lucky I’m in love with you or I wouldn’t be letting you fuck me over the couch after saying something like that.”

“The couch?”

“You don’t want to?”

“Hell yeah I do, baby, bend over right now,” he leans over to press a kiss to the column of his neck, right above where his heart beats, “I’d fuck you anywhere if you’d like me to.”

“Osamu, you disappoint me every day.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.” But when he looks at him, there is a smile on his face, still.

* * *

See, that’s how they got here in the first place, with Kiyoomi on his work chair in front of this month’s accounting—reading glasses perched on his nose—and Osamu, having just come home from work, ready to hop into the shower.

“What are ya doin’, Kiyoomi?”

Kiyoomi sighs, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“The bills,” he informs him in a neutral tone, but Osamu’s been with him long enough to know that there was a thin layer of disgust in his words. “I hate masquerading as a functional human being.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Osamu says. “I’m gonna take a shower and get supper goin’.”

Kiyoomi clicks his tongue. He turns his chair to his boyfriend, his eyebrows raising in interest. Stress lines the frown on his mouth. “Thank you, baby.”

Osamu pauses, turning around and giving him a suspicious look. “You only call me baby when yer horny.”

“That’s right.” Kiyoomi tells him, still infuriatingly calm. “I do.”

“But,” he glances at the computer, “yer workin’.”

Kiyoomi leans back on the chair. “Remember what I suggested trying that one morning when I brought up orgasm denial?”

Osamu blinks at him. Then he remembers Kiyoomi whispering _want you on my dick, want you to wait until you want me so bad you turn into someone else entirely, until you’re whining and soft and flushed, and you’re mine, you’re mine,_ and he colors. “Oh.”

“Mhm,” Kiyoomi says. “Can I?”

Kiyoomi doesn’t top often. Osamu likes it when he does, but he rarely has the desire to—Kiyoomi says he likes being able to trust him, being able to relinquish control, being able to know and know for sure that Osamu would deliver good results. Because Osamu delivers.

He _always_ delivers.

The few times Kiyoomi had topped, though, it has always been woven from the same fabric as Osamu’s deepest, darkest dreams—always with his hands clutching the sheets in desperation, making noises he wouldn’t have even thought of making unless he was in the throes of mindless passion, panting and moaning and crying.

Now he’s suggesting that Osamu try cock warming him as he works, looking like something he doesn’t deserve. How could he ever refuse?

He thinks it over. Realizes there's nothing to think about, and just gives him a thumbs up.

“Let me take a shower first,” he says, lips pursed.

“Okay. Take your time.”

So Osamu does—fingers himself open under the shower, biting his fist under the jets, is liberal with the lubricant because he’s very particular with this. When he returns, Kiyoomi’s eyes are heated, swirling with a fire that he doesn’t light him up, eyes scanning him almost like he knows, sees the red spreading through his cheeks and his jaw.

“On my lap, baby,” he orders, his soft, low drawl like melted caramel, “and stay still. Got it?”

“Yeah,” he complies, throat dry.

“You remember your safe word?”

“Yeah. You remember yours?”

“Of course.” Kiyoomi nods. “Come over here.”

They’re not loud, not by any definition of it; so when Osamu lets himself get hauled on to Kiyoomi’s lap, his hand gentle on his hip bone, slight and tender, and he mewls out a soft, “oh, _oh_ ,” Kiyoomi hums, sufficiently surprised, already moving to pull down his sweatpants a little to take out his cock.

“You’re needy today, baby,” he murmurs, his lips finding the side of his neck to drawl small kisses there, his thumb rubbing in small circles against his skin, holding him still. There’s another small gasp once Kiyoomi’s lips trace around the shell of his ear and he feels rather than sees the smile. “You missed me fucking you that much, huh?”

“Yer awfully talkative for someone who isn’t even fuckin’ me.” Osamu says with a snarl. He feels like he should be ashamed—he’s bare, completely naked, and Kiyoomi’s still fully dressed, in a house shirt and his dick in his hand—but he isn’t.

 _It’s hot,_ he thinks. So fucking hot.

“I don’t think you should be complaining, when you're hard just from this.” Because he is hard, he’s squirming and too warm, letting out soft curses as Kiyoomi guides him down his length methodically slow, the burn simultaneously pleasant and painful as he does.

It’s been a while, a couple of months since they’ve last tried anything, and when Kiyoomi bottoms out and Osamu’s ass is flush on his lap, he’s already squirming and warm and already so worked up.

“Shut the fuck up and move,” he snaps.

There’s a breath of a laugh. “You don’t get to order me around.”

“I thought ya liked it when I’m mean.” He turns to Kiyoomi, teasing. “And when I’m loud.”

Kiyoomi shoves his fingers into Osamu’s mouth, not missing how he shudders and wraps his mouth around the digits, quiet now that he's been given something to occupy him.

“Not when I’m working, sweetheart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the juncture where his neck and shoulder meet. His other hand is still steady on the mouse, clicking, clicking, clicking. “If you don’t distract me, you’ll get to come sooner.”

Osamu glares menacingly at the excel tab on the computer even when his mouth is busy and he’s literally sitting on Kiyoomi’s dick. _Fuck math,_ he thinks. Kiyoomi moves a little as he’s working, laying a hand carefully on his hip, just a small feather light touch, but it sizzles into electricity. It makes Osamu moan desperately against Kiyoomi’s fingers and he grinds against him in a plea for any kind of attention.

“If you don’t listen to what I say, I won’t let you come until you’re fucking crying.” Kiyoomi whispers against his nape—there’s always something about the way he curses that prompts a delicious kind of thrill to crawl up Osamu’s spine, and what he’s saying right now is almost torture when he’s expected to sit still.

He wants to fuck himself on Kiyoomi’s cock, ride him so hard that he comes untouched, leave black and blue around his neck so he can satiate the growing possessiveness churning in his gut that demands to be met. Kiyoomi’s his own fucking person, his own fucking man, but this is Osamu’s Kiyoomi—one only he gets to have.

“Mhm.” Osamu lets out broken moans around Kiyoomi’s fingers. This is when Kiyoomi finally relents, pulling his fingers out of his mouth, wet with spit.

“Messy baby.” Kiyoomi tuts, hand going straight into his length, the surprise causing him to jolt in surprise as he flicks his wrist, slowly dragging him close to the edge but not quite, while the other remains with his work.

The numbers increase and decrease on the spreadsheet. Osamu doesn’t realize that he’s holding his breath.

“Honey, please,” he gasps, trying to simultaneously push back and get away from the sensations, his hands gripping the arms of the chair. “ _Kiyoomi_.”

“Be good,” he reminds him, tone still neutral but so self-satisfied it goes straight to Osamu’s dick. He loves it when Kiyoomi’s like this—sexy and dangerous, too aware of his power and not afraid to flaunt it.

“I _am_ good,” Osamu insists. Because he is. He’s been sitting on his dick for around twenty minutes now, and he knows he’s been good.

“No, you’re not,” Kiyoomi corrects, tone clipped. “Don’t make excuses. I told you to keep quiet.”

“I don’t wanna,” he whines. He braces his palms on Kiyoomi’s thighs, lifting himself up, but Kiyoomi only _tsks_ and lets go of his cock, taking hold of him by the waist and forcing him still, leaving him wiggling and crying. “Move, move. I need you to _move_.”

“It’s been _ten minutes_ , baby,” Kiyoomi growls against his earlobe, teeth grazing against skin, his hands strong and stable, like he always is.

“Please—Kiyoomi, baby, sweetheart. Please move.”

“I’m not finished with the bills yet.” Osamu’s vision grows hazy and he lets out another little gasp when Kiyoomi thrusts up shallowly into him.

“Please, darlin’, pretty please let me come.”

“Fine, since you’re begging so nicely.”

Osamu decides to shut his trap, even as the amount of responses to that spills all over his tongue; Kiyoomi hums, looking down and just watching his hand wrapped around Osamu's cock. “If you can come in ten seconds just by this, then I’ll let you. But that’s the only time you’re allowed to come.”

Osamu’s teeth digs into his lower lip. “That’s insane. I can’t—”

“Ten,” and then his thumb swipes around the head with a flick of his flexible as fuck wrists that Osamu really, really hates right now, “nine, eight.”

Kiyoomi speeds up, and Osamu jerks, grabbing at his arm in surprise as he leans back into Kiyoomi’s chest almost as leverage, “Fuck. Babe, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Seven, six.”

Osamu hides his face in the crook of Kiyoomi’s neck and mewls, letting out little harried sounds that he mumbles against skin as his nails dig into his arm, his hips thrusting forward into the only source of pleasure, desperate, so very desperate.

“Five.” Kiyoomi kisses the taste of salt off Osamu’s cheeks. “Four.”

“I can’t do it, baby, I can’t, I fucking can’t,” he nearly cries into his neck. Kiyoomi responds by rubbing at the head of his cock the way he knows Osamu likes and he chokes. “Babe. Shit.”

“Three,” and there are tears gathering in Osamu’s eyes now as he grips at the edges of Kiyoomi’s shirt, “two, one. Zero.”

The motions stop completely and all at once, leaving him reeling and gripping tighter at Kiyoomi’s shirt, enough for it to bunch at his hands.

“No. Nononono, baby, fuck, please, baby, give me another chance, keep movin’, please, I’ll come. I’ll come, I’ll be so good, I’ll be the best for you.”

“I guess you didn’t want it bad enough, baby.”

“That’s not,” he growls, sinking his teeth into Kiyoomi’s shoulder, “fuckin’ true and you know it, ya sadistic bastard. I fuckin’ hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“But I do.” If anything, Kiyoomi’s eyes darken at the sting, almost like he was being fueled by Osamu being a huge pain in the ass. Well, Kiyoomi’s being a pain in the ass, too. Just in a different way.

“I want to come,” he whines, tugging on his shirt, too far gone to think, “Let me come.”

“We have time.” There’s a small smirk in his tone that just bleeds and mixes into Osamu’s lust—desire and desperation. “But first, that’s another thirty minutes of sitting on my cock for you, pretty boy.”

Osamu lets out a choked sob and closes his eyes, already knowing that this is just the beginning. 


End file.
